Chateau Envy (3/8: Bordeaux to Tours, France)

Warning: this is a long entry. It’ll probably take a good 10 minutes to get through it. You might want to print it out and take it to the bathroom, or something.

After a flurry of phone calls, my winery visits are all rearranged: at 10:30 I’m going to Chateau Petrus, at 1 Chateau Margaux, and at 3:30 Chateau Lafite-Rothschild. Then, at the end of it all, instead of going to Paris, as originally planned, I’m going to Tours (SW of Paris, in the Loire Valley) for the night.

So, wake up, and realize I left my toiletries bag in the car. Throw on my boots, stumble out the door and head for the car. Since I don’t have my ticket for the garage (left it in the car), they won’t let me in through any of the side doors, and I’m in no condition to walk all the way to the main entrance (2 blocks away). Screw it. Go back up to the hotel room, shower, get dressed, and head down to check-out

Something isn’t right. Probably just because I haven’t deodorized or brushed my teeth yet. Once I finish getting human, I’m sure I’ll be fine.

Check-out, head to the main entrance to the garage, get to my car, grab my toiletries bag, head over to the bathroom to wrap up the “getting ready” part of my day, and leave for Chateau Petrus

The winery is just north of St. Emilion; and while the Bordeaux wines are named after the nearby city of Bordeaux, Pommeral (the type of wine Petrus makes) -- while also technically a Bordeaux -- gets its name from a nearby castle. I get there at 10:30, and take the tour. Guess what, it looks just like every other winery I’ve ever taken a tour of. Sweeping vineyard, old growth mixed with new growth, processing, barrels, blah, blah, blah. Note for next time: skip the tour, and go straight to the tasting room. Though, I did find out one interesting thing during the tour: somewhere along the way, the French passed a law that if you call your wine “Chateau Something”, the structure pictured on the label not only has to exist, but has to be on the grounds of the main vineyard. As wine became more and more popular in the US, lots of French growers realized that the best selling wines (other than the famous wineries), were the ones with the “nicest” chateaus pictured on the label. As a result, over the last 10 years, there has been a flurry of construction all over France as wineries try to build more and more impressive chateaus to put on their labels so their wine will sell better in the US; and that within the industry they have taken to calling this “chateau envy”. My guide ends his story by almost sneering “the appearance of our chateau has not changed for over three quarters of a century.” Anyway, head to the tasting room, and, of course, the wine tastes phenomenal. I’m really not a Merlot fan, but Pommeral works for me (Bordeaux reds are rarely made from a single kind of grape – they are almost always a blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Cabernet Franc. The typical Bordeaux is predominantly Cabernet Sauvignon, a Pommeral is predominantly Merlot, but both contain all three). These particular Pommerals (Chateau Petrus) are also crazy expensive. The cheapest Petrus’s sell for over $500 a bottle… and that’s for a “future” on a 2007 that won’t be released for another 2-3 years. Anything available on the market (2005 and older) is already well into the thousands. Doing the math, each “tasting” of wine probably costs more than any single bottle of alcohol I’ve ever purchased. Spit cup? No thanks, I’ll swallow.

Something still doesn’t feel right. I’m probably just hungry – haven’t had anything to eat all day, and I just had (the equivalent of) 2 glasses of wine.

So, I head over to the town of Margaux for lunch, and get a Pate sandwich. How awesome is that. Two thick slices of pate, some veggies, all on a perfect baguette. This is a perfectly normal lunch here. I love France.

After lunch, head over to Chateau Margaux for round two of my winery tour. Of course, because all these tours/tastings are by “appointment”, I feel obligated to take their stupid tour. More grapes, more tanks, more barrels. I laughed, I cried, it was awesome: over to the tasting room. This stuff tastes even better, and it’s much cheaper than the Petrus… anywhere from a fifth to a tenth of the cost. Eventually, leave, and start driving up towards Pauillac to go to Lafite-Rothschild.

Something still doesn’t feel right. I know what it is – I haven’t talked to my folks in a couple weeks. I should give them a call.

So, as I’m driving, call home. Talk to my mom for a bit… my grandfather is doing well, she’s heading to Connecticut, dad isn’t home (huh? It’s 6:30 in the morning! No, it’s 8:30… west coast is 9 behind, east coast is 6 behind, and you’re even getting the west coast wrong – it was 8 behind from London… d’oh!). I don’t have dad’s number handy, so mom calls him, and he calls me. We talk for a bit… he’s been mapping out my trip online, saw my pictures, maybe Sagrada Familia isn’t considered a “modern wonder of the world” because it isn’t done yet, and when I tell him where I am he tells me I’ve been going in the wrong direction for the last 20km and I need to turn around. But, everything is fine.

I get to Lafite.

Something still doesn’t feel right. I reach for my chain… I fiddle with it sometimes when I’m feeling like this. Holy crap! My chain is missing!

This is a big deal. It’s the chain that my (late) grandfather gave to my father to give to me at my “thread ceremony” (our version of a Confirmation or Bar Mitzvah, but without a lot of the religious stuff). This isn’t just a piece of jewelry. To me, it’s a physical connection to my father, and to my grandfather. I can not lose this.

Run inside the Lafite office. “Hi, I’m Maneesh, I’m here. I have to go! Sorry!” Run back to my car, and bomb my way back to Bordeaux. Seriously, I’m going 140Km/h on 80Km/h roads (about 90mph on a 50 – and they are welcome to mail me all the speeding tickets they want). I know exactly where my chain is. I left it on the shelf above the sink, but since I never brushed my teeth there, I never went back there after my shower. I also don’t have the number for the hotel, so I can’t call them to find out if anyone has been in the room since I left. Crap, I think that was a cop I just passed at nearly twice the speed limit. No, it was an ambulance. The ambulance is just a regular car? How is that useful? Get to Bordeaux, and now I’m stuck in traffic. I’m going crazy. What if it isn’t there? What if I left it in Toulouse? What a cruel trick that would be. Have I mentioned that I hate Toulouse? Having to go back there would suck. Ok, it was just a lane drop because of some construction. Since Bordeaux doesn’t suck, I follow the signs to Gambeta, and pull up in front of my hotel. Run inside “I have forgotten something really important in my… room of sleep… this morning” (remember, I’m speaking French… badly). He calls the housekeeper. “What are you missing?” “A gold chain.” Goes back and forth with the housekeeper. “She has it, and you—“

Before he can finish I say “Merci!” over my shoulder and I’m already running upstairs. Find the housekeeper, get my chain back and put it on. From now on, I’ll be showering with my chain on.

Now, everything feels right. Get back in my car, turn on the radio, get on the A10, and head for Tours.

“I always feel like, somebody’s watching meeeeeeeeee”

Rockwell! This whole song, to me, is one of the great mysteries of our time. It came out in the early/mid 80s, so how did a then unknown (and turns out one-hit-wonder) Rockwell, get Michael Jackson – at the height of his powers – to sing back up for him? Someone needs to look into this. Michael may have gotten away with the whole child molesting thing, but I’m guessing Rockwell has something pretty juicy on him.

Anyway, after a couple hours driving, I arrive in Tours, and, like Bordeaux, find my hotel no problem ($*&#ing Toulouse). Get my room, and head out for a bite to eat. Go to a restaurant recommended by my guide book called “Comme Autre Fouee”. They specialize in… fouees. Basically mini pitas that are baked in wood ovens for about a minute, and then immediately served piping hot. The first course is a fouee with onion and lardon (French bacon) on top. The next is pork rilletes, white beans with sausage, and goat cheese (each of which goes into the fouee to be eaten like a sandwich), all with a half-bottle of red wine. Another awesome meal.

After that, wandered around the old-town area (which is now full of restaurants, pubs, and cafes), and then finally back to the hotel. Finished my third book (The Namesake), and down for the night.